Power and Revenge
by Idealist-Cynic
Summary: My first fic. After the events of Dawnguard, the Dragonborn vampire wishes to explain himself to Isran. Basically a retelling of the first mission in Dawnguard within a framing device. Implied SeranaxDragonborn, but nothing explicit. (Sorry about the bad summary.) Reviews are appreciated, if you feel so inclined.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**_Obligatory Disclaimer:_** _I do not own The Elder Scrolls, Skyrim, Dawnguard, nor do I own any of the characters within those games. Those worlds, stories, and copyrights are all owned by Bethesda Softworks. None of the characters involved in this story are original; the framing device of the Dragonborn attempting to meet with Isran, however, is my idea. Any resemblance to other works on FanFiction dot net or any other website is entirely coincidental; I came up with the idea long before I read a word of fanfiction._ **  
**

 ** _Author's Note:_** _For most of this fanfic, I'll be writing in the first person. If any of you are like me, that alone would cause you to hit the "Back" button on your browser. I'm telling you this now for two reasons. One: To warn people that this first chapter isn't exactly like what the rest will be. Two: There's a good reason for shifting to the first person later: The story is a narrative, similar to The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss in terms of a framing device. Now, that's enough boring stuff; on to the exposition!_

 _Isran,_

 _I know I must be the last person you wish to hear from. You want nothing to do with me, aside from perhaps killing me. Nevertheless, I believe you will want to hear what I have to say._

 _Most men have layered desires. Their actions are driven by their current goal, which constantly changes. We are not like them; a single desire, a single cause drives us both, spurs our every action. Every step we take and word we say is in service to that one goal. The only difference between us is what that goal is._

 _I want to explain myself to you. Not to seek forgiveness, but understanding. I told the truth when I said I wanted to join the Dawnguard on that day before you sent me to Dimhollow Crypt, though I know you don't believe me. What I found within changed my mind. If you wish to hear what I have to say, douse the brazier in front of the entrance to Dayspring Canyon on Morndas, the 23_ _rd_ _of Evening Star. I shall come alone, unarmed and unarmored, at noon to show my good faith. If the fire remains lit, you will never hear from me again._

 _A friend_

 **Fort Dawnguard, Fredas, 12** **th** **of Evening Star, 4E 201**

Isran grimaced at the letter, as if disgusted by holding something written by a vampire. "Celann," he said, "What do you think of this?"

"I say we do nothing. It's too dangerous to allow one of them into the fort, and we can't afford to let anyone see us conversing with the enemy."

"Hmm… I think we might be able to trust it. I'll go on patrol on the twenty-second; if it is who it claims to be, I'll recognize it. If it's a trap, we kill it."

"As you say, Isran," Celann said, against his better judgment. Isran was the head of the Dawnguard; while Celann was an advisor, and an old friend, it was not his place to question his decisions. All he could do was trust that Isran wasn't taking any more chances than necessary, and prepare for an attack, the same way he and everyone in the Dawnguard did every day.

 **Castle Volkihar, Middas, 2** **nd** **of Evening Star, 4E 201**

"Why do you insist on this?" Serana asked. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in Castle Volkihar, looking on at the Dragonborn as he rifled through the desk for paper, a quill, and an inkpot that hadn't dried up and rotted away over centuries of neglect. Eventually, he gave up, and simply set a stack of paper on fire with a spell, catching the ash in a glazed bowl that until recently held flowers for alchemy.

"Honestly? I don't know," the lord of the castle replied. He never understood fully why he was granted Harkon's old title when Serana had more right to it. She was, after all, Harkon's daughter, and far more powerful than he could ever hope to be. For that matter, Valerica would be a fine choice, as well. He supposed that the title fell to him simply because he had struck the final blow against the man, while Serana held the gargoyles and skeletons at bay. "Part of it is that I understand him, his motivations. Respect them, not particularly. For all his talk of helping Skyrim, he's only concerned with revenge. But I understand him, so perhaps he can understand me."

"You know he'll probably try to kill you, you'll have to fight the entire Dawnguard at once, possibly die, and then that lot will be wiped out anyway. And either I or my mother will have to take up the slack." Serana's voice was a mixture of fatigue at the idea of being the head of the clan of vampires, of dealing with the politics. Not that there was much political maneuvering to be done; the Dragonborn had made it clear that vampires ought to remain in hiding for the most part, or they would be wiped out by the sheer number of mortal men and women willing to fight them. Just in case something were to happen, though, Orthjolf and Vingalmo were continuing to manipulate the Dragonborn as best they could.

"I know, but I won't go completely without protection. I'll leave on the nineteenth; if I'm not back within two weeks, I've told Orthjolf to attack the Dawnguard in force after five days. I also told Vingalmo that Valerica will be in charge if I were to die. Finally, I'm fairly certain that I won't. I'm the Dragonborn; until I slay Alduin, I'm confident that the gods won't let me die." He wasn't boasting. He had inexplicably survived numerous wounds that should have been fatal; there were rumors that an arrow to the heart hurt him only as much as the same arrow to the hand.

"You don't know that. Some say that many people can fulfill a prophecy; you become the prophesied hero by your actions, not by the gods scripting out your life. But, fine. I know enough about wanting adventure to know that I can't convince you to pick something safe like clearing a troll's nest. Just take me with you on the next one; I'm getting sick of this place. Nothing ever _happens_ here, and it's not like I can just leave whenever I want to. Even if I could, companions are nice; there's no one else here I can really talk to."

"Don't worry," the Dragonborn said, folding the letter and sealing it with a blob of wax from a nearby candle. "Next time, we'll go to Solstheim. I don't know why anyone there would want to kill me, but I'd sure as hell like to find out." He left the room, his boots leaving clouds of dust in his wake as he moved to the coffins in the basement. Daylight was fast approaching, and he did not desire to use Harkon's coffin-or anything belonging to the man-any time soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fort Dawnguard, Fredas, 12** **th** **of Evening Star, 4E 201**

Isran was no fool. He knew that vampires were dangerous, and that inviting one into Fort Dawnguard was a shaky endeavor; at best, the defenses he had put in place would be seen by the enemy. Guard numbers and locations, not to mention the layout of the Fort itself, would be laid bare. Sacrificing the security of the fledgling army defending Skyrim from vampires was not an action to be taken lightly… but information on the enemy was valuable, as well, and an insider wishing to speak to him about the vampire hierarchy could be valuable in destroying them.

The Dawnguard leader remembered the argonian he sent into Dimhollow Crypt well. The newcomer had patiently waited in the shadow of the entrance while he was preoccupied with Tolan, but had confidently stepped into the light streaming in from above when Isran had glanced in his direction while Agmaer had hesitated. Where the farm boy had only swung "his pa's axe" a handful of times to chop wood, the reptilian man was clearly a seasoned adventurer. He was armed with daggers at his back, a sword at his left hip, and a bow slung across one shoulder, carrying ammunition on his right leg. He clearly favored stealthy combat, like most of his kind; in Black Marsh, Isran knew, argonians were trained to attack from the shadows, trained in close combat and stealth. Not what he was looking for in the Dawnguard, ideally, but Isran needed bodies, and he wasn't about to refuse a volunteer.

In any case, Isran refused to simply allow a vampire into Fort Dawnguard without good reason. He believed, strongly, that vampires as a whole needed to be eradicated; that belief was what had kept him alive and unwavering throughout his life. He was not above subterfuge, though. If the vampires truly desired to back down, then Isran would accept the surrender and promptly burn them all while they were vulnerable. However, Isran could not trust himself to be rational. Whoever had sent the letter was trying to manipulate his emotions, cloud his thinking; he needed someone to verify his thought process, vindicate this deal with the devil.

Thus, Isran turned to the only two people in Fort Dawnguard who did not regard him as a leader. Leaders weren't questioned, but friends and enemies alike would be willing and even eager to see flaws in his decisions. Sorine Jurard had a head for seeing all the possible outcomes of the situation, extrapolating to conclusions years in the future with ease. Florentius Baenius, though… while Isran had his doubts about the man's sanity—the same doubts he had of any fanatical priest, especially one who claimed to commune with the Divines directly—there was no doubt that he sometimes showed knowledge of things without any clear explanation. While Gunmar, the Dawnguard's smith, had no qualms about criticizing Isran, he also thought too similarly to him to be of help. Both men were focused on war, pragmatism, and brute force; the problem ahead required more finesse in discovering solutions.

Florentius was of significantly less help than Isran had hoped. "You, of all people, want to invite a _vampire_ into Fort Dawnguard? No. No, I… What? Really? But… fine. Arkay says neither you nor I shall die on the 23rd, but I still think it's a bad idea."

"Great. I have a madman's instincts conflicting with the voices in his head serving as one opinion," Isran grumbled humorlessly as he walked away. Behind him, Florentius muttered about having misplaced an ingredient for a poison… and then musing that perhaps the ingredient did not actually exist, or some such nonsense. Hopefully, Sorine would be more coherent and direct. He wouldn't dislike less belligerence, either. Unfortunately, Sorine wasn't the type to filter her thoughts for the benefit of others, especially where Isran was concerned.

"You recreated the Dawnguard, and now you want to start down the same path as the namesake? Are you insane? Don't you know the legends of how the original Dawnguard chose to all become vampires after seeing how powerful they were? And you want to just _let one in_?"

"That's why I'm asking. Give me your opinion on the consequences."

"Well, logically…" Sorine paused, taking a few moments to think. "Option one: The whole idea is a ruse meant to confuse us, or is an outright prank by someone else, and the vampires may or may not just storm the fort once we've let our guard down. Option two: This person is who he says he is, and takes advantage while we're welcoming him to kill us all."

"Cheery. So, we don't let our guard down. What happens if we bring him in, bound, so he can't use magic?"

"That's where things get interesting. We can kill him or take him prisoner at any point if he shows hostility, or simply if we want to. We might be able to even interrogate him. If he truly _is_ the leader of the vampires, then he's likely the strongest one. Take him out while he's weak, and the rest will fall more easily. Hell of a gamble, though."

"Sorine… Thanks," Isran said. From him, it was the equivalent of kneeling and kissing her hand in theatrical gratitude. The conversations had been informative, if nothing else. Isran considered the advice he'd been given, tried to see other angles. This was, after all, the leader's job. Leaders weren't questioned. Leaders didn't drive people away with their force of personality, but drew them in with it instead.

Isran wasn't a leader. He had antagonized almost every person he had ever met, such that the Vigilants of Stendarr were happy to see him and his own level of ruthlessness leave the organization. When times had gotten worse despite, or perhaps because of, his inability to compromise with the weakness of others, Isran blamed the people who questioned him and left him. If he had had the help he now commanded, if only because the vampires were brazenly attacking every city in Skyrim, the situation would not be half as bad as it was now. But all those people had to question him, had to doubt him, had to leave him, all because they didn't want to believe the man prophesying the end of the world. And they had all come crawling back now.

Leaders took the advice that was offered to them, synthesized it into a plan, and carried out that plan. Isran had been given his advice; don't trust the letter. It's a trap. Either preemptively attack, or dig in to defend Fort Dawnguard against an assault. It jeopardized far too much to allow a vampire in, regardless of the potential benefits.

Isran wasn't a leader.

"Celann, get a courier. I'm going to pull back some patrols to double the guard around Fort Dawnguard, starting as soon as possible. Just because we're having a guest doesn't mean we're going to be idiots about it." Celann was clearly taken aback, but managed to control the look of shock on his face before asking if Isran was sure he knew what he was doing.

"Not a gods-damned clue," was his reply.


End file.
